


All I Want

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2416316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://pintokinkmeme.livejournal.com/925.html?thread=29853#t29853">this</a> prompt on the Pinto kink meme. </p><p>Chris misses Zach, but it doesn't seem like Zach misses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want

Chris doesn’t stop jogging until he’s a block from his hotel. He probably lost Dick-Sock Guy a while back, but he definitely didn’t want to take any chances, and besides, the run has done a good job of keeping his head from exploding. By now, his hand is cramping up from gripping his phone so hard, and the blood rushing in his ears isn’t just from physical exertion. Judging by the uneasy looks he’s getting from passersby, he probably looks about as murderous as he feels.

“Answer your fucking phone, you asshole,” Chris barks, as if Zach’s voicemail might turn sentient and somehow get the message to him this time. It is probably the tenth voicemail he has left (honestly, he lost track somewhere around number four), and by now he is sure that Zach isn’t going to be answering any time soon, but he jams the call button again anyway. His blood pressure rises with each tinny ring that echoes in his ear.

_Hi, you’ve reached Zachary Quinto. I can’t answer the phone right now…_

Chris seethes. He pulls the phone away from his ear for a moment just so he can glare at the stupid picture of Zach’s stupid face on his stupid phone screen.

“Zach,” he hisses when the stupid robotic voice tells him for the umpteenth time to leave his message. “I’ve been in New York for 24 hours, and I still haven’t seen you, and you _told_ me to come over, and then you didn’t answer your goddamn phone. You better have a fucking fantastic excuse when you _call me back_.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his tongue flicking anxiously over his lips. “We haven’t seen each other in...in a long time, Zach. I want to see you. _Please_ call me.”

He jabs his thumb down on the end call button so hard he is surprised he doesn’t crack his screen, then debates throwing the phone down on the pavement just for the satisfaction of watching it shatter. What good comes from technology anyway? Just one more way for people to avoid you. Just one more excuse for people never to see each other. _Sorry, man, my battery died._ Or, _I totally tweeted at you. Did you not see it?_ Chris wants sometimes to just withdraw from the world and everything electronic and go be a hermit living in some remote part of Maine or New Hampshire or somewhere else with more trees than people. It would be so freeing. Eventually, he would probably stop caring about anything. Eventually, he would probably stop caring about Zachary Fucking Quinto.

Chris clings to his anger as he barrels through the revolving door of his hotel and stalks toward the elevators. It’s easier to just embrace the feeling than it is to think about why this has him so upset in the first place. As long as his mind is full of red-hot rage, there is little room for actual thought, little room for that gnawing, sickening longing that has lived in the back of his mind ever since Zach moved to New York two years ago. Two fucking years, and he still feels like a wreck. It’s pathetic. He is almost as angry with himself as he is with Zach. Almost.

Back in his hotel room, he peels off his sweaty gym clothes--made doubly sweaty by his impromptu run through the streets of New York in an attempt to escape Dick Sock Guy--and turns the shower on as hot as he can stand it. It’s supposed to make him feel better, or maybe scald the yearning right out of his head, but all he can think about is how he should be taking a shower in _Zach’s_ apartment right now, and then borrowing some clothes from him so they can go out and have a drink. Then going back to his place and having a beer and talking into the wee hours of the morning, because they have so much time to make up for. And maybe he would tell Zach how much he misses him, and maybe Zach would say he misses him too, his mouth all screwed up into that thoughtful pouty frown of his.

Except none of that is happening, because Zach must not miss him too damn much if he can’t even make the time to see him when he’s in town. He hasn’t even seen Zach’s face in months, aside from paparazzi pictures. (And, fuck, how weird is his life that the only way to keep up with one of his closest friends is through tabloids sometimes?) He flew literally all the way across the country for the sole purpose of seeing Zach, and yet here he is, alone in his hotel room. 

Chris has managed to think himself into quite a funk by the time he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, so it only makes sense that _that_ would be the moment when his phone decides to start vibrating loudly against the bathroom counter where he left it. And there is Zach’s great, big grin plastered across the screen. Chris chuckles in disbelief and shakes his head.

“Too fucking late, dude,” he says in the direction the phone, and he has every intention of really meaning it. He has every intention of walking out of the room to leave his phone to ring and ring, let Zach leave a voicemail or two or ten and see how it feels. But just as he reaches the doorway, he realizes he isn’t going to be able to walk through it. He pounds his fist against the doorjamb in frustration, then turns and lunges for the phone.

“Zach?” he says, a little breathlessly, a lot hopefully. Then again, “Zach?”

There is silence on the other end of the line. Chris’s heart is doing a stellar job mimicking Flight of the Bumblebee.

“Chris?” Zach’s voice says at last. Chris sighs with relief and slumps against the wall.

“Yeah,” is all he can bring himself to say. He is supposed to be mad, and he will be, in a minute, but for now he is just trying to breathe. “I’m here.”

“Here as in…?”

“No, I’m, uhh. Back at my hotel.” Hardness creeps back into his voice at that. “I couldn’t reach you.” Then, because he feels the need to lay on a little guilt trip, he adds, “I got chased down the street by a guy wearing a sock. Only a sock.”

Zach lets out a little amused breath into the phone, which massively rubs Chris the wrong way. Normally getting any sort of reaction out of Zach makes him happy, but not today. 

“Sorry, man,” Zach says. “I forgot to give you a heads up that it was Pride Week.”

“Yeah, you did. And you know what else you forgot to do? Answer your fucking phone.”

There is a telling silence on the other side of the line, and Chris braces for impact.

“Listen, Chris…”

“Don’t you ‘Listen, Chris’ me!” This is ridiculous. What the hell is _happening_?

“I had something come up,” Zach continues, as if he didn’t even hear him. “A work thing. I can’t get out of it. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t sound too sorry. His voice sounds hollow and far away, as far away as California to New York. And that’s the fucking irony of it all. He can get as close to Zach as he wants, he can walk right up to his doorstep and lay on the call button all afternoon, but if Zach doesn’t let him in, he might as well be a world away. He might as well not even have come.

“Fuck you, man,” Chris spits, equal parts weary and fed up. “Seriously, fuck you.”

“I’m sorry, Chris, I really am. I’ll make it up to--”

“You want to make it up to me?” That hot rage from earlier starts to bubble up again. He is probably about to say something he will regret, but he can’t stop himself. “You can make it up to me by losing my number. I’m tired of this shit.”

“Tired of what--”

But Chris doesn’t stay on the line to listen to the rest of Zach’s incredibly calm and reasonable protest. He hangs up and throws his phone in the sink, then storms out of the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, so he won’t hear it vibrating in there when Zach tries to call him back. _If_ Zach tries to call him back. Not that he cares. He doesn’t.

Ignoring the ache in his chest and the stupid, sentimental burning in his eyes, he throws himself down on the bed and puts his hands over his eyes, trying to block out the afternoon sunshine streaming in the windows. This is stupid. There is no reason why he should be so upset right now, but he just can’t shake the feeling that Zach moving away was the beginning of the end of their friendship, and it’s easier to be pissed than it is to mourn. The anger feels much safer.

Eventually, he shifts onto his side and slides an arm under a pillow and shuts his eyes. A good nap can fix anything, right? Maybe when he wakes up, the anxious churning in his stomach will be gone and he can enjoy the rest of his time in New York _without_ Zach. It’s a great city. He’s always wanted to live here. He doesn’t need to see it with Zach to enjoy it.

As he drifts off to sleep, he almost actually makes himself believe that’s true.

\--------

When the knock at the door wakes him up, Chris knows who it is before he even opens his eyes. Chances are slim that he somehow psychically projected his ravenous hunger to Pizza Hut, and now the delivery guy is here with a large meat lover’s for him to devour in bed in his underwear, so there really is only one other option. For a moment, he considers rolling over and going back to sleep.

The knocking continues unrelentingly though, as if Zach can read his thoughts from out there in the hallway, so Chris groans and drags himself out of bed. At least he might have get the satisfaction of slamming the door in Zach’s face. That would feel pretty good right now.

He pulls on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, then crosses the room and wrenches open the door, prepared to spit fire.

Except Zach doesn’t give him a chance. He immediately pushes past Chris, shouldering him out of the way in the process, and walks into the room like he was invited.

“I called you like 40 times, man. Where’s your phone?”

Chris can’t answer, because he’s too caught off guard by Zach’s forceful entrance and the fact that he’s here at all and the fact that he hasn’t seen his face in months. And of course he has to show up here looking fucking devastating. The last time Chris saw him, he was still sporting the Spock bowl cut and only a third of his eyebrows, and he sort of forgot how gorgeous he is when he doesn’t look like a Vulcan. Actually, he’s not bad when he looks like a Vulcan either, come to think of it.

Fuck, he’s supposed to be pissed, not pining.

“What’re you doing here?” Chris says, ignoring Zach’s question. He is still awkwardly holding the door open a little, because any moment now he is going to kick Zach out. Really.

“Get dressed. I’ve got this awesome Italian place I’ve been wanting to take you to. They have _great_ garlic bread, and I know how much you love shoving carbs in your face, and I have to live vicariously through you, because I’m sort of dieting.” In the midst of his rambling, Zach walks over to Chris’s suitcase, which is sitting open on the little loveseat next to the window, and starts rifling through it. “It’s not that fancy of a place, but do you have like a pair of khakis or--”

“ _Zach_ ,” Chris interrupts. He lets the door slam shut finally, and Zach startles a little and straightens up, a pair of jeans in his hand. Chris walks over and wrenches them away from him, then drops them back in the suitcase. “I asked what you’re doing here.”

The shocked expression slides off Zach’s face, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad.”

“You blew me off, dude.”

“I’m here now,” he says, raising an eyebrow as if he thinks that’s the only explanation Chris should need and he isn’t sure why he’s pressing the issue.

“Not good enough,” Chris says, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “And again, why _are_ you here? I thought you had a work thing. Either it was the world’s shortest work thing, or--”

“Or I decided not to go. Or maybe I never had a work thing to begin with. I’ll let you puzzle it out while you get dressed.” He picks up the jeans again and holds them out to Chris, looking unduly impatient. 

“You’re a dick.” Chris snatches the jeans. “A huge dick.” He nudges Zach out of the way so he can get to his suitcase and pull out a gray button down. “I should tell you to take a hike.” 

He doesn’t though, of course. He should and he wants to--wants to even more when he starts changing and Zach gets this smug look on his face--but he just doesn’t. Because Chris has the willpower for a lot of things, like dieting and exercise and doing lots and lots of interviews even though they make him massively uncomfortable, but he doesn’t have the willpower to say no to Zach. Not right now, at least. Not when he is standing right in front of him, rather than 3000 miles away, just a disembodied voice on the phone.

“You love me,” Zach says with a shit-eating grin. He actually has the gall to reach out and pat Chris’s cheek, just before he brushes past him to flop down sideways on the bed and watch Chris get dressed. 

The sad thing is, Chris does. He really, really does. But he hates him almost as much. 

\--------

Zach said the place wasn’t fancy, and maybe he wasn’t technically lying, because a lot of the patrons are in blue jeans, but the lighting is low and there are candles on the table, and Chris feels weird about it from the moment they step through the door. It’s too...intimate. He doesn’t particularly feel in the mood to watch Zach’s face in the flickering candlelight and pretend nothing is wrong.

The garlic bread helps though. It’s buttery, cheesy, garlicky heaven, and Chris wolfs it down and doesn’t feel the slightest bit sorry for Zach, who is stabbing apathetically at a salad and watching Chris chew. He doesn’t deserve garlic bread right now. Garlic bread is not for people who bail on their friends.

Under the pretense of being totally over it, Chris attempts small talk. Luckily, he doesn’t have to try too hard, because Zach is great at keeping up conversation. He talks about work--American Horror Story starts filming in about a month--and about the dogs, and he asks Chris how he feels about this Jack Ryan thing that’s coming up, and by the time their actual food comes--spaghetti and meatballs for Chris and chicken marsala for Zach--Chris’s mood has improved a bit. It almost feels like old times again, before Zach moved to New York and it wasn’t uncommon for them to grab dinner together regularly, as their schedules allowed. Chris shouldn’t let himself imagine, but he does. He imagines nothing has changed, and, until the bill comes, it feels real.

Zach insists on paying, and Chris lets him, because it’s the least he could do, really. He makes sure to thank him though (because his mother raised him right) and shows him a genuine smile and even claps him on the back as they make their way toward the door. Once they make it outside, Chris starts in the direction of his hotel automatically, just assuming that Zach will follow, since they still have all this time to make up for. But Zach isn’t following. Chris turns on his heel, frowning, confused.

“You coming?” he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Naturally he assumed he would get Zach for the rest of the night, but right now it’s looking like that might not have been a safe assumption. “I figured we could pick up a bottle of something and then hang out at in my room for a bit.” Just like old times. Just like the press tour.

Zach looks at the sidewalk and fiddles with one of his shirtsleeves. “Nah, Chris. I can’t drink. I’ve...got an early morning.”

Chris’s frown only deepens. He glances at his watch. 8:30. It isn’t even late. “Then we won’t drink. Just come back and hang out.”

“Chris…” Zach has this expression on his face like he’s trapped and scared, and Chris has no idea what to make of it. He does know that he doesn’t want to hear whatever ridiculous excuse Zach is going to cook up next though. He makes a frustrated sound and walks a few steps back toward Zach, who is still hovering near the door of the restaurant like he is thinking of taking off in the other direction.

“Zach, what the fuck?” Chris says, a little too loudly. Even though there are people walking by, he doesn’t really care about making a scene, but Zach immediately looks uncomfortable. “So what was this, a pity dinner?”

“No, it wasn’t a _pity_ dinner. I’m just...I’ve got a busy week this week. You know how it is. You get busy too!” 

Chris likes to think that he would never get so busy he wouldn’t make time for Zach if he came to LA, but it’s possible he isn’t really thinking clearly. He doesn’t have a good track record for being rational when he’s angry.

“Whatever,” he says wearily, angrily. “Nevermind then. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

Zach takes a step forward and reaches out like he is going to touch Chris’s arm, but Chris shoots him a glare that stops him in his tracks. He huffs out an exasperated breath and pulls his hand back. “I don’t understand why you’re taking this so personally.”

“Because you left!” The words burst out of him like they have been wanting to come out for ages. Because they _have_ been wanting to come out for ages, and now, standing in the dark and seeing Zach framed by city lights instead of palm trees, it’s just too much. “Because you left and I m-miss you, and you don’t even--” Chris has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep all the rest of it from coming out too, and probably making it onto the front page of some tabloid tomorrow.

Zach no longer looks scared though, just thunderstruck. He stares at Chris with his mouth agape for several long moments, until the silence has stretched well past awkward and into very uncomfortable. It’s way too late for Chris to take the words back, and he doesn’t really want to explain himself further out here on the sidewalk, so he just shifts his weight restlessly and waits for Zach to say something. Or do something.

“We can’t do this here,” he says eventually, shaking himself. He steps forward and takes Chris by the arm, like he plans to physically drag him down the street, but Chris shakes him off. 

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps unnecessarily, because Zach’s fingers are like brands burning into his skin, and he cannot deal with that right now.

“We can talk at my place,” Zach continues, once his hands are safely inside his pockets. “Not on the sidewalk.”

“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” Chris says. “You’ve made it pretty damn clear you don’t want to talk to me.”

“I didn’t know…” Zach stops and shakes his head. “Please, just...please, Chris.”

It’s so, so tempting to just turn around and walk away from Zach, leave him standing there in the dark alone. Chris doesn’t think anyone would blame him for doing it, after the day he has had. But there is something about the way Zach is looking at him--both nervous and hopeful--that makes his heart do this weird fluttery thing, makes him want to hear what he has to say for himself.

“Fine, Zach, but I swear to God, if the first thing out of your mouth isn’t an apology, I’ll be out the door so fast--”

“Okay,” Zach cuts him off. “I get it. Okay. Let’s just...come on.”

Chris glares for a few more seconds, just to make sure Zach is getting the picture that he’s really, really serious this time, then finally he sighs, his shoulders slumping a little bit. 

“Alright,” he says. “Lead the way.” 

\--------

Zach’s apartment looks different than Chris remembered it. Or maybe it’s just that he feels so much different than the last time he was here, and that’s making him see everything differently. Two years ago, Zach had only just moved, and Chris had not yet had time to miss him as much, nor had they had time to really drift apart. In the days leading up to his visit, Zach had called him dozens of times, getting his opinion on what they should do together while he was there and whether he needed anything special from the store and whether he had remembered to pack a jacket just in case. The whole trip had been full of nervous energy and a frenzied desire to pack in as much time with each other as they could--late night drinking, early morning walks, deep conversations, indulgent meals. When Chris had left, he felt like maybe they could do this long-distance friendship thing after all. Maybe the hole that was in his life since Zach moved away wouldn’t be permanent.

But it had been, and had gotten worse, and now he steps into Zach’s home without a shred of excitement, only apprehension and anger. Zach’s couch is new. There is an artificial potted tree in the corner that wasn’t there before (he could have a _real_ tree if he was still in LA). His bookshelf is much more full. There are shoes by the door, and there is dust on the TV screen, and there is a balled-up blanket on one side of the couch. Two years ago, Chris would have assumed he and Zach knew each other well enough that he didn’t feel he had to clean for him. Today, he just feels like Zach had no intention of having him over, so he didn’t bother.

The dogs trot up to receive pats and ear scritches, but only Zach indulges them. Chris just shoots them apologetic looks and shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t feel in the mood for doggie kisses right now.

“So, you have something to tell me?” he says, remaining close to the door like he might have to make a quick break for it.

Zach sighs. He gives Noah one last pat on the head and then stands up slowly and turns around.

“Well, I guess I better say I’m sorry first, so you don’t leave,” he says breezily. Even though it’s obvious he’s just trying to cover up his anxiety, it makes Chris scowl.

“That is the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

“You have to let me explain, Chris.” He starts walking backward toward the couch, beckoning Chris to follow. “Please. I swear, I wasn’t trying to blow you off or...or...will you just listen to me and stop looking like you’re preparing to dash out the door?”

Chris doesn’t think he is _capable_ of looking like he doesn’t want to bolt at the moment, but he steps farther into the apartment anyway. He doesn’t join Zach in heading for the couch though. He is too wound up to sit down, or to get that close to Zach.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

Zach takes a deep breath, looking down at his hands. “You sort of freaked me out.”

That isn’t exactly the apologetic explanation Chris was looking for. “I _what_? How did I freak you out?”

“What are you even doing here, Chris?”

“Uh,” Chris says, his brain frantically trying to piece together where Zach is headed before he gets there. “I came to see you.”

“But _why_?” Zach’s hands balls into fists on top of his knees, and he stares at Chris like he’s trying to pull an answer out of him with his eyes. Chris doesn’t know what he wants to hear though, and that puts him on edge.

“Because we’re both between projects and it seemed like a good time. And like I told you, I m--”

“Don’t.” Zach cuts him off. “Don’t say it again. I just...I don’t understand. None of my other friends make special trips out here to see me. Kristen doesn’t. Zoe doesn’t. Hell, even my brother usually only comes to visit when he also has business in New York, which is often enough, but still.”

Chris grinds his teeth. He is being backed into a corner, and that makes him scared, and being scared makes him angry. “I wasn’t aware I needed a fucking good reason to come visit a friend, but if you didn’t want to see me, you could have just said so. Like before I flew all the way out here. Or before I was on my way to your fucking apartment.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you.”

“No, you just implied I was some kind of freak for wanting to see _you_.”

Zach leaps to his feet, his face suddenly stormy. “Don’t play dumb, Christopher,” he snaps, making Chris flinch a little. “Look, I like you. You’re a good friend. We have fun together on set and during the press tour, but I just...you’re making this feel like it’s more than it is, and it’s confusing me.”

“I don’t--” Chris stammers, shaking his head. “I don’t understand what you’re--”

“I thought when you came out to visit the one time, that was going to be it. We’d still see each other for Trek, and maybe we’d look each other up if we happened to be in town, and I have been trying to let myself let go of you, and then you show up here and you’re all ‘Zach, let me come over’, ‘Zach, spend time with me’, ‘Zach, I miss you’, and how the fuck am I supposed to…to take that.” 

“Trying to let go of me?” Chris repeats dumbly. He feels like his head is underwater. His thoughts are muddled and he can’t seem to breathe quite right and he doesn’t know which way is up anymore. It sounds like Zach is accusing him of toying with his feelings, but that can’t be right. That doesn’t sound right at all.

But Zach just continues on like he didn’t hear him. “So if I was being a dick, it’s only because you were a dick first, Chris. You couldn’t just let me leave and get over you. No, you have to keep expecting me to call and open up my home to you and--”

But Chris doesn’t let him finish. Something snaps inside him, and in three long strides, he is right up in Zach’s space. Even though he is screaming inside his head, he doesn’t let himself think, just takes Zach’s face in his hands and crushes their mouths together.

The worst kind of first kiss is the one where you can’t help but wonder if it’s going to be both the first and the last. It’s terrifying the way Zach’s mouth is slack with shock, and his hands remain limp at his sides, and for the first few seconds Chris feels like he is just waiting to be shoved backward and for Zach to snarl at him to get out. So in the few moments he has, he throws himself into it, body and soul. He isn’t so much kissing Zach as he is hanging on for dear life, begging to be let in, apologizing for being so damn stupid, scolding Zach for being so stupid himself. If this could be the first and last kiss they are going to have, he has a whole fucking lot to say in it, and he can’t afford to hold anything back. 

Zach makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and Chris braces himself to feel hands pushing him away, but when Zach’s hands find his hips, they don’t push. His fingers curl into the small of Chris’s back and tug him in just as he tilts his head a little and starts to return the kiss, sweeping his tongue across his bottom lip. When Chris opens up for him and Zach sighs like he is coming home, everything that was upside down in Chris’s world turns right-side up again. Every misunderstanding between them fades into the background. 

“God,” Zach says between kisses. “Chris, I can’t--” He moves his mouth to Chris’s jaw. “Can’t believe you never said--” He bites at his earlobe. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Then, he fastens his mouth to Chris’s neck, sucking not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to make his stomach flip and his dick twitch in his pants.

He doesn’t really have the brain capacity to answer any questions at the moment, and he finds it a little unfair that Zach is asking him to try. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, pushing his fingers into Zach’s hair. “You know now.”

Zach huffs his disagreement into the base of Chris’s neck, but he doesn’t seem in a hurry to stop and talk it out. Instead, his fingers sneak up under the back of Chris’s shirt and then tuck down into the waistband of his pants. It’s brazen in a way that is somehow completely congruent with what Chris knows of Zach, even though this should be new, strange territory for them. 

“God, I want you,” He pulls Zach up by the hair so he can kiss him again, frantically, filthily. “I never thought...never thought you’d…”

“Ah, fuck,” Zach murmurs against his lips. His fingertips slide further down the back of Chris’s pants, until they are digging into the top of his ass, and then he jerks him forward, grinding their hips together. “I’m sorry,” he pants. “I’m sorry, I’m--”

“Don’t.” Chris pulls back just enough to shake his head. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

The bedroom seems a hundred thousand miles away, but somehow they make it there, mostly thanks to Zach. Chris is too busy kissing him and stripping off his shirt so he can run his fingers through the patch of hair on his chest. Somewhere along the way, Zach manages to get Chris out of his clothes, although Chris hardly notices until his bare back hits the sheets and he realizes Zach is looking at him like he’s the promised land.

“What do you want?” Zach asks him, skimming his fingers down the side of his face in a surprising show of tenderness. “I want to make you feel good.”

There is a little uncertainty in Zach’s eyes, and Chris has a sneaking suspicion he feels like he has something to make up for. Their little misunderstanding wasn’t really anyone’s fault, but maybe both of them could use this shot at redemption.

“Want you,” Chris says. “All of you.”

“You have me.” Zach leans in and kisses Chris’s temple, then the center of his forehead, then his cheekbone. Somehow the tenderness of those kisses lights a fire in Chris, and he arches his back, trying to get their bodies closer together.

“Fuck me,” he begs. It’s been a long time, a _long_ time, since he’s been with a guy, but he knows he wants Zach inside him right now more than he wants anything else.

Zach leans over him and roots around in the bedside table for a moment, then shimmies out of his pants and underwear, and Chris has to close his eyes to keep from getting too overwhelmed by the moment. He doesn’t realize he is holding his breath until wet fingers are circling his hole and he lets it all out in a shuddery rush.

“Relax, Chris,” Zach’s voice says in his ear. “I’ve got you.”

He’d believe anything Zach told him in that tone of voice. It’s hard to believe that an hour ago Chris was convinced that he was the world’s biggest dick and didn’t give two shits about him, and now he is here cradling Chris’s head with one hand and pushing a slick finger into him with the other, and if it weren’t for the persistent burn that comes from being fingered open, Chris isn’t sure he would believe any of this is happening.

“Keep talking,” he says, turning his head a little to rub his nose against Zach’s rough cheek. “Tell me. Did you think about this before?” 

“Too much,” Zach admits, then adds another finger, eliciting a groan from Chris. “It was getting so bad before I moved. Every time I saw you, I wanted to kiss you. Your fucking mouth, Chris.” He leans in and kisses him now, coaxing his tongue into his mouth and then sucking on it until Chris groans again and bucks up again, clenching around his fingers.

Zach was fingering him slowly and gently at first, but now he is really going for it, twisting his wrist, crooking his fingers until he finds the spot that makes Chris shudder and jerk and then stroking it again and again. He hasn’t even touched Chris’s dick yet, but Chris is hard anyway, his cock flushed red and leaking.

“I knew it would be like this,” Zach says. He pulls back a little and shifts his weight to his knees so he can slide his hand down Chris’s chest, where the skin is hot and flushed with arousal. “I knew you’d look like this, blushing and wanton and so fucking hard for me.” Zach wraps his fingers around Chris’s cock and gives him a slow jerk. “I hoped I could put you out of my head if I got some space, but I can’t tell you how often I jerked off to this image right here, you spread out underneath me.”

Chris feels like he’s going to fucking explode out of his skin if Zach doesn’t do something. He tries to grind himself down on Zach’s fingers, but he doesn’t have the leverage. “Zach. Zach. I’m ready. Come on.”

Zach makes an impatient sound, as if he isn’t the one setting the pace right now, and then finally withdraws his fingers. Chris can’t look away as he rolls the condom on himself and then slicks himself up, the muscles in his forearms flexing. Then, finally, he lines himself up and starts pushing inside.

There isn’t any room in Chris’s head for anything except _Zach, Zach, Zach_ after that. His fingers scrabble at Zach’s shoulders, then slide down to take hold of his ass, urging him onward. Not that Zach needs any urging. He isn’t rough, but he is certainly unrelenting, fucking Chris with long, deep strokes that he swears he can feel in every cell in his body. 

“Harder,” Chris says, even though it’s already almost too much. “More, please.” He wants his teeth to rattle, wants to feel this so much that he’ll still be feeling it when he goes back to LA without Zach. He wants to feel it so much that he won’t be able to think about being without Zach right now.

Zach growls and leans down to fasten his teeth over one of Chris’s nipples, tugging it gently and then soothing with his tongue as his hips piston faster, deeper, giving him what he asked for. Then, Zach sits up a little and wraps a hand around him, and that’s all it takes. Chris comes hard, his mouth falling open as he paints his chest all the way up to the shoulders with come.

“Oh fuck, Chris,” Zach groans, awe in his voice. Chris just barely has the strength to hook his heels behind Zach’s hips to encourage him, and Zach pounds into him once, twice, thrice more before he drops his head to Chris’s shoulder and shudders through his own orgasm.

They don’t move for a while, just breathe in sync and cling to each other until they both start coming down from their high.

Eventually, Zach slides out and heads for the bathroom, while Chris stares at the ceiling and tries to make sense of everything that just happened. When Zach reappears wearing a smile and bearing a wet washcloth though, making sense of things doesn’t seem all that important. He lets Zach clean him up, humming happily, then welcomes him back into bed by pulling him into his arms and tucking his head against his neck.

“When do you have to go back?” Zach asks after a moment. Trust him to ruin the moment with the world’s most depressing question.

“My flight is tomorrow evening,” Chris answers with a sigh, then burrows in closer like maybe he can hide from it.

Zach is silent for a long moment, petting a hand down Chris’s back, then sucks in a deep breath. “What if you cancelled it?”

Chris scoots back so he can look at Zach. “What?”

“We just...have a lot to talk about, I think. And maybe some time to make up for. What if you just...stayed?”

It’s not an impossible idea. He doesn’t have pets back home that need caring for, and he’s sure that he can find someone to water his plants. He has filming in New York in a couple months anyway. It could be like an extended vacation, with the added bonus of figuring out what this thing between him and Zach really is. Is it irresponsible? Maybe. Does he care? Definitely not.

Chris’s mouth splits into a grin, and he leans in to kiss Zach. “Yeah,” he says against his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll stay. If you want me to.”

“I want you to,” Zach confirms, sifting his fingers through the hair at the back of Chris’s head. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Finally, _finally_ they are on the same page.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://semper-ama.tumblr.com/).


End file.
